Split the Night
by RenaRoo
Summary: [RvB Angst War] Grif cannot believe it until he sees a body.


ephemeraltea prompted: Grif always said he wouldn't believe she was dead until he saw a body. But, oh, god, he wasn't prepared to actually see his sister's corpse…

Tea! You're going right for my soul this angst war I stg! I love it and am forever in your debts. You know how much I love Grif siblings and you're just gutting me with it!

Red vs Blue and related properties © Rooster Teeth  
story © RenaRoo

 **Split the Night**

The thing about Hawaii was it was never that great to him while he lived there.

He loved it, but Grif loved it in the way he loved not having to guess too much more about what was going to happen next in his life. Space was a far and distant concept to him and his sister even when almost everyone he had known had been there and back, be it for vacation or supposed war.

 _War…_

It was the damndest thing.

He never feared aliens. He never saw them, not like hoary bats or tsunamis. He didn't see them until he was drafted, he never knew that blood curdling fear that was on every commercial back home. And so these intergalactic assholes that supposedly existed weren't really any enemy of his as far as he could see at seventeen.

The UNSC played that role when they told him he didn't have any choice. He was property to them then, and it didn't matter that his baby sister would have to go live in a circus again if he wasn't there, he had to leave everything he knew.

They were the enemy. Until they weren't. Until aliens were very, horribly, _terrifyingly_ real.

Simmons was standing beside him when Grif was told what had happened.

He grew this inhuman shade of ashen white and began to stumble back – react the way that perhaps the soldiers were _expecting_ Grif to act, but it was so overblown and dramatic that it took out an end table behind Simmons.

Whatever. He needed to grow up in Grif's book. It wasn't like Simmons even had a sister.

"Why would she be fighting aliens?" Grif asked defiantly instead, crossing his arms over his chest.

The soldier blinked back. "I'm… excuse me?"

"My sister," Grif continued without missing a beat. "Your story doesn't make any sense. Why would _Kaikaina Grif,_ of all fucking people, be fighting aliens?"

For a moment the soldier looked him over and then looked to Simmons who was collecting himself off the floor. Rather than help Simmons up, he looked back to Grif. "It wasn't part of the war–"

"Yeah, we all fucking missed it, _we're aware,"_ Grif snapped.

"But you do realize that there are several splinter groups that are unsatisfied with accepting the peace or with their… new religious leader," he said, treading lightly due to some apparently familiarity with their history.

"So?" Grif demanded.

"So?" he repeated.

"Yeah, _so?_ What's that have to do with my sister?" Grif replied. "It sounds an awful lot to me like you guys have some other bitch that you're trying to pass off as her. And let me tell you, after all the identity theft she had growing up due to her dumbass attempts to answer online quizzes, she's going to be _pissed_ to learn someone stole her death certificate, too."

The soldier looked mortified. "Sir, your sister was _not_ given a pardon from the UNSC after the infolding of Project Freelancer, you realize," he explained. "That was a very special set of circumstances for just _your_ group. No one else."

"What the fuck do I care about that?" Grif hissed.

Simmons, back on his feet, grabbed Grif's shoulder. "Grif," he whispered, "all other simulation troopers that were cleared were reinstated as soldiers. They weren't… Kai didn't just go home."

Grif turned and stared at Simmons incredulously. "Well why the fuck not!? She was only in the goddamn army _because_ of me. Without me around why didn't she just go home?"

"Sir, she was a soldier," the messenger attempted again only for Grif to quickly turn back on him.

"Where's my sister!?" he demanded.

"She's being shipped back here to Earth today–"

"Address, motherfucker. Give me an address," Grif demanded.

* * *

Why Simmons was still with him was _beyond_ Grif's comprehension at that point. He was _livid_ , steaming in the back seat of the jeep being driven by the incompetent messenger trying to convince him that Kai was dead.

"This is a waste of fucking time," Grif growled.

"Yeah," Simmons said, with absolutely no heart to it.

"Fucking– can you _believe_ this?" Grif asked, turning in his seat to look at Simmons directly, read his response.

Simmons still had no color, but his eyes were wide and round. "Yeah," he repeated solemnly.

Frustrated with the lack of rise from Simmons, Grif threw himself back into his seat. "Killed by aliens. What a fucking load. Didn't the aliens tell us they didn't even believe in death? Weird asshole honking–" He released a choked, frustrated noise, and threw his face into his hands.

Finally somewhat reactive, Simmons put a hand on his shoulder. "Grif–"

"It's not her," he repeated.

"Sure."

" _No,_ Simmons. Not _sure!_ Not fucking _sure_ , you're supposed to say _yes_ because my sister one time fell through ice and–"

"Came back up three hours later alive and pregnant," Simmons sighed.

"It's not her."

"Yes," Simmons said, putting his own head into his hands. "Yes, Grif. Whatever you say."

* * *

Finally at the address, Grif found himself staring at the soldier who had drug them there. His brows knitted together and he glared, unbelieving, before he found the adequate words.

"You brought us to a morgue," he said almost in disgust.

The soldier, apparently having had his fill of Grif, looked in frustration to Simmons before shaking his head and leaving.

Simmons looked worriedly. "I… I can check," he offered.

"Why? It's not her," Grif replied before briskly making his way in. He barely even paid attention as Simmons kept right on his heels.

"Maybe we should talk about this," Simmons began to say just before Grif stopped dead in his tracks.

Grif looked at the table in front of them. He looked _very_ carefully at the respectfully opened back, at the woman with purple lips and frizzed curly hair. At the way her nose was pierced and there were thick marks were eyeliner was again and again too overly stained. At the yellow and blue mistmatched streaks in her hair.

He looked at those things carefully, took a step forward, and took a breath.

"Oh my god," Simmons whispered from behind him.

Eyes sweeping over the body again and again, identifying moles, muscle tone, the chips of her nails, Grif examined the body like he was an expert and then he turned to face Simmons without warning.

The other man looked scared as hell back at Grif, like he had no idea what was coming next.

"Poor girl," Grif said, "I… feel bad for her family."

Simmons' mouth opened then closed. His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed before he shook his head. "Grif–"

"I do," Grif said as he took a step forward. "Losing such a…" He paused his steps and breathed through his nose as he searched for the words. "She's so pretty. I mean, she's beautiful. And strong – she's… she's really strong. Looks like she got her hands dirty out there, her nails were chipped back past the-the nail polish. And she's…"

Looking only more concerned, Simmons took a step toward him. "Grif?"

"She's young, too," Grif said, his vision blurring. "I mean, fuck, Simmons. Why the fuck does the military need them so young? Shouldn't she be in school? Shouldn't she be getting married and having-having her brother's nieces and nephews–"

Simmons caught his arm. Grif didn't even realized he had tripped. "Grif, calm down–"

"Fuck it's not her," he bellowed, smashing his fist down on the tile. "But I'm so-so _goddamn mad_ for her."

"I know," Simmons said, caving and sitting on the floor beside him. "I know."


End file.
